


One Touch Sensitive

by DementedPixie



Series: Demented Pixie's Pros Fic [32]
Category: The Professionals (TV 1977)
Genre: Episode: s02e07 A Stirring of Dust, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:55:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22653616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DementedPixie/pseuds/DementedPixie
Summary: Oh... those Russians.PLEASE DO NOT RE-POST THIS STORY ON ANY OTHER PLATFORM.
Relationships: William Bodie & Ray Doyle
Series: Demented Pixie's Pros Fic [32]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1264832
Comments: 10
Kudos: 17





	1. One Touch Sensitive

**Author's Note:**

> My name is Demented Pixie and I’m a Pros fan, but that hasn’t always been my name. If you knew me as In Love With Both and you’re a friend, then you’ll already know why I left the fandom some years back. But, hey, a girl can change her mind, and I have therefore decided to re-share my Professionals fanfiction on this amazing Archive – no changes, no improvements, no alterations. I’ll be posting them just as they were written. No comments, no trolls, and no betas. Just me and my stories. I’m sharing them so that they can take their place in the archive, but I’m also sharing them for the Pros generation, for those future generations yet to discover Bodie and Doyle, and for Sandra, who has never ceased waving pompoms for all Pros fanfiction writers.  
> The following story was written by me in 2009.

Doyle stood framed in hazy light in the expanse of the derelict window at the edge of the dockside warehouse, staring out over the view of London that stretched before him. It was late August and intensely hot, so heady and humid it felt as if thunder and lightning must surely be imminent. The view in front of him shimmered in a heat haze, the sky a strange shade of pale translucent blue. 

He heard footsteps approaching and turned. As the three KGB men strode toward him he stepped forward and took his place at Cowley’s side. His Russian counterpart stepped forward to shake his hand as usual, but Doyle remained where he was, unmoving and stone faced. The gap where his partner usually stood screamed out to them all. 

“Hallo, Comrade,” said Cowley.

“Hallo, Tovarich,” said Yashinkov.

“Thank you for agreeing to see me again so quickly after our last meeting. There has been a development that only you can help me with,” said Cowley. He came straight to business before the Russian could reply. “One of my agents, Bodie, has been missing since the day after we last met.” 

“I...” Yashinkov halted, suddenly unsure. This wasn’t what he had been expecting. He had been hoping that his British Counterpart had changed his mind about handing over the manuscript. Now, he wasn’t sure how to play it at all. “I see” he said, flatly. 

“Can you tell me anything?” asked Cowley, patiently.

“It is not a subject I am able to speak of with any certainty,” said Yashinkov, shrugging.

“Are you able to relay back to Moscow that we are interested in a trade?” asked Cowley.

“I would be able to do that, yes.”

“Can you assure me that he is alive, at least?”

“I have heard very little, but I have not heard that he is dead,” said Yashinkov, with more than his usual evasiveness. 

“We will meet again, Comrade, get in touch with me through the usual channels.”

Yashnikov was relieved that the interview was over. How had all this happened without his knowledge? “Until next time, Tovarich,” he said.

Cowley and Yashinkov shook hands and both the KGB bodyguards came to shake hands with Doyle, who did so with a grim look on his face. 

“Find him” he said quietly to his counterpart, looking him in the eye with a fire-like intensity.

“Da, Comrade,” said the Russian, his voice heavily serious. After all, they were all agents together, similar in so many ways. It could so easily have been one of them that had been taken. The three KGB agents turned and walked back across the dusty floor of the warehouse. 

********

Bodie sat in a wooden chair with his upper body slumped over a table, head pillowed by his arms as he slept fitfully. 

The door opened suddenly with a bang, the sound echoing around the room. The strip light was turned on full and Bodie tried to bury his face further into his arms with a groan. 

A smartly dressed woman walked into the huge interrogation room where Bodie was imprisoned, her heels clip clopping on the concrete floor. A giant of a man dressed in a grey uniform accompanied her. She placed her papers on the table and sat opposite Bodie, who squinted across at her through his eyelashes. He did not want to let too much light in, not just yet anyway. He took in her grey uniform, prim and Teutonic, topped off with shoulder length blond hair. She was attractive, and in any other circumstances, Bodie would not have hesitated. But now, she was the last person he wanted to see. 

“Today we return to the location of Comrade Thomas Darby’s manuscript,” she said, in a clipped voice with a heavy Russian accent.

The huge man walked towards Bodie, slowly but with obvious intent. 

Bodie groaned again. Yesterday was one to forget. He had been beaten almost senseless and asked continual questions about something he knew sod all about. Somehow he knew today wasn’t going to be his day either. 

********

“Well I can’t just sit here,” shouted Doyle, slamming his fist into the desk. He had been pacing up and down in Cowley’s office for an hour now, and his patience had finally run out. 

“I don’t know what choice you have Doyle. Unless you have failed to notice, we have no leads.” 

Cowley realised Doyle’s frustration, and tried to keep him focussed. 

“I’ll go back again to where Bodie was last seen.”

“We’ve already gone through that with a fine toothed comb,” said Cowley. “I’ve used all my official channels - and plenty of unofficial ones too, come to that. Once the word gets out via Yashinkov that we are open to a trade, it will only be a matter of time. I’m confident in that at least.”

“And what if they just dispose of Bodie because he’s no use to them anymore?” To Doyle, it wasn’t something he even wanted to think about, let alone voice. 

“That isn’t their usual style Doyle, you know that. There will be something or someone they want back in return. I only hope it’s not someone out of our reach.”

Doyle strode to the door.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Cowley’s patience was also running very thin. 

“Bodie’s flat. There might be something I’ve missed.” His anger subsided slightly. “I’ve got to do something, sir.” 

Cowley sighed. “Aye laddie, I suppose you do.”

********

Doyle pulled up outside Bodie’s flat and parked his RS2000 behind the abandoned Capri. He let himself in with the spare key; he and Bodie had trusted each other with that small privilege for months now. Setting the locks behind him, he walked over to the couch in the lounge where he sat down, putting his head in his hands in despair. He knew there was no real reason for him to be here, he had already searched the place thoroughly the day Bodie had disappeared, but this seemed the only sensible place to be right now. 

He rubbed at his eyes, suddenly tired. He hadn’t slept properly during the last four days; he had been constantly searching for Bodie. He was going to be no use to either of them in this state. He pulled his feet up on the sofa and lay back, closing his eyes and sighing deeply to himself. “Where was the stupid bugger?” 

********

Bodie lay in the corner of the huge room, knowing there was no point trying to open his eyes. The darkness was so intense he wouldn’t be able to see a thing anyway. 

He felt like crap. Movement of any kind caused pain somewhere on his body; in fact it felt like everywhere. There was an intense pain behind the eyes, due in no small way to having his head smashed back against the wall during the last interrogation session. He was also certain of a couple of cracked ribs, not to mention all the other bruises the Russian heavy had inflicted on him. 

He tried his best to think back over the last few days. He remembered leaving Doyle at the pub, then parking his Capri outside his flat. But he hadn’t made it inside. Then there were very vague, cloudy memories of being tied down to a bed, or a stretcher. There was the sound of an engine, loud and booming. Had he been on a plane? Then it was all a blank until he had woken up in this room. He felt sick. Maybe he should stop thinking so hard. 

It was all so totally stupid. Why would they think he knew anything? Did they really think Cowley would tell him where the bloody manuscript was? He was just an agent who did as he was told. If anything, he and Doyle were often the last to find out what the hell was going on. He tried to turn his thoughts away from Doyle as that tended to make him even more miserable. He had tried to cling to some hope that Doyle might find him, but as he didn’t even know where he was himself, how was Doyle supposed to? His thoughts inexplicably tuned in to those of Doyle’s so many miles away. “Where was the stupid bugger?” 

********

Doyle awoke to the insistent beep of his R/T. He reached out to quickly grab it.

“4-5.”

“This is Alpha One. Meet me at the warehouse. Yashinkov has some information for us.”

“Did he say what?” Doyle was sitting up now, instantly alert. 

“You know he won’t commit to anything on the R/T. But I do think you should bring your passport,” said Cowley, cryptically. 

“What? Why?”

“He said he thought you should be trying the food at Lubyanka. I think you might be taking a trip. Alpha out.”

Doyle turned off the R/T. Taking a trip. Oh shit. He paused a few seconds to allow this to sink it, before he pulled himself together and raced out of the flat, remembering to go via his own flat first to collect the necessary documents. 

********

Cowley and Doyle walked quickly across the warehouse floor to meet the three KGB agents. Yashinkov was looking nervously at his watch. Cowley approached and shook his hand.

“We have very little time, Tovarich,” said Yashinkov.

“And why is that, Comrade?” asked Cowley.

“A diplomatic flight is leaving for Moscow in one hour. Your agent will accompany us.” He nodded towards Doyle. 

“I cannot say I am all together happy about that Grigor. I have already lost one man, I don’t intend to lose two.” Cowley made sure Yashinkov felt the weight of his words. 

“Our arrangement is based on trust Tovarich, mutual trust.” Yashinkov smiled in what he thought was a reassuring way.

“I realise that, but would you do so, in my place?”

Yashinkov turned away slightly and said something in a low voice to one of his agents, who nodded and replied back.

“A compromise, Tovarich?” said Yashinkov, turning back to Cowley.

“What do you have in mind?” 

“Your agent will accompany myself and Alexei, while Yuri stays with you as guarantee of our good intentions.”

Cowley turned to Doyle with an enquiring look on his face. “4-5?”

Negotiations were rudely interrupted by Alexei sneezing very loudly. They all looked at him and he gave them a sheepish look back. “Izvineetye - dust,” he said, smiling his apology. 

The instant reminder of Bodie complaining about the dust in this same place, only a few days ago, pricked at Doyle’s eyes, and he blinked quickly to force back the emotion. “If it’s our only chance to find Bodie, then yes.” Doyle answered Cowley’s question, his fists clenched and a look of determination on his face. 

Cowley turned back to Yashinkov. “Agreed,” he said. “Do you know why he is being held?”

Yashinkov looked a little sheepish. “I believe when the body of Comrade Thomas Darby arrived back in Moscow, it was felt that his manuscript should have been with him.” He shrugged his shoulders and gave an embarrassed smile. 

“I understand” said Cowley. Damn it. Deep down he had know this would be behind it all. He was going to have to give up Darby’s book. He hid the relief on his face, as he realised that all the work the CI5 secretaries had done over the last few days to copy it had not been in vain. 

“We must go,” said Yashinkov, gesturing to the agent beside him. He shook his hand, then he went to stand next to Cowley. 

Cowley picked up his briefcase and passed it to Doyle along with its small key. “Guard it well 4-5. You’ll be needing this for the exchange.”

Doyle took the briefcase, somewhat surprised at the ease Cowley had handed it over. Especially after the trouble everyone had gone to. Yashinkov looked at the case with a twinkle in his eye. 

“Good luck” said Cowley, extending his hand. 

Doyle looked at it for a second, then pulled himself together and shook his hand. He knew what that handshake meant. It meant trouble. “Thank you, sir,” he said. 

Cowley watched with a great deal of trepidation as Doyle, Yashinkov and Bakunin walked quickly out of the warehouse. He turned to the remaining agent by his side. “Yuri Burakov?” he asked, checking he had it right.

“Da.”

Cowley smiled and his eyes twinkled. “Well Yuri, let’s get you back to HQ and see if we can’t convert you from Vodka to pure malt scotch.”

********

Doyle looked up from the front passenger seat of the large black ZiL, taking in the impressive splendour of the KGB Headquarters in Lubyanka Square. A bit different to CI5 HQ, he thought with a wry smile. This was a beautiful baroque palace, not quite how he had imagined the infamous prison where so many people had been tortured and killed. His counterpart, Alexei Bakunin, was in the driving seat watching his reaction with interest. 

“It is splendid, da?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said Doyle, “very impressive. Is Bodie in there then?” He turned around to direct his question to Yashinkov who sat in the back seat. 

“It is the most logical place,” he said, nodding, with a slightly sad expression on his face. 

“So what are we waiting for?” said Doyle. “When do we get him out?”

Yashinkov smiled and patted Doyle’s shoulder, as if he were preventing a small boy from opening his Christmas presents a day earlier than he should. “Patience, Tovarich, patience. If Comrade Bodie is in Lubyanka, then it will take more than us three to remove him.”

“So what are we going to do?” asked Doyle, trying to keep the exasperation from his voice. 

“We divide our forces.” Yashinkov gazed out of the window, lacing his fingers together as he focused his thoughts. “I will attempt a political resolution, while you and Bakunin use our other contacts to gain intelligence and infiltrate the prison.”

Doyle looked back at the imposing building. Infiltrate the prison? Was he having a laugh? Then a shiver went down his spine as he realised what might be happening to Bodie inside that very building and he turned back to Yashinkov. “Where do we start?” he said.

********

Bodie had already decided. The next time anyone came into the room, he was going to make a try for it. He felt his way along the wall until he was positioned behind the door, then slid down to sit on the floor, exhausted and nauseous with the effort. 

A few minutes later the key jostled in the lock and he got unsteadily to his feet. Luckily for him the first person into the room was Miss Prissy Knickers herself, and he launched himself at her with as much force as he could muster. Pushing her aside he fell into the brightly lit corridor, slamming straight into a brick wall that turned out to be her minder. The huge Russian picked Bodie up and threw him back into the room with some force, man handling him until he was standing back behind the door again. 

Prissy Knickers joined them, leaving the door half open behind her. She looked at him with something like pity in her eyes. “You must understand that Comrade Darby’s document could put many Russian agents’ lives at risk. All I need is for you to tell me where it is, and this will all be over.” She smiled, quite sweetly Bodie thought. 

“But I keep telling you I don’t know where it is,” said Bodie looking directly at her, using his eyes to try to appeal to her better nature. It was then that he discovered she didn’t have one. She gave the signal to the heavy, who put all his weight into smashing the door back on its hinges so that it crashed into Bodie’s left arm, breaking his forearm in one sharp, hideous movement. He tried very hard not to, but Bodie couldn’t help screaming in pain before he passed out. 

*********

Yashinkov waited patiently to be called into the office. He was on the third floor of the KGB Headquarters. He had waited many years to get to the third floor, and now he was only yards away from Yuri Andropov himself, Chief of the Secret Police, Head of the KGB. Despite himself, Yashinkov felt butterflies in his stomach. They weren’t going to like what he needed to ask. 

A secretary in a smart grey uniform ushered him into a waiting room and gestured for him to sit. Eventually an aide appeared, tall and thin, with grey hair and a pale face. Yashinkov looked up at him expectantly. 

“Your message has been communicated to Commander Andropov.”

“And?” 

“Are you able to guarantee the return of the missing document?”

“I believe I can, yes.” Yashinkov became aware of his palms sweating. 

“The document is an essential part of the negotiations. Commander Andropov will not consider any release of the prisoner without it.”

“I understand,” said Yashinkov. He had known this would happen. “And will the prisoner definitely be released if the document is located?”

The man looked slightly uncomfortable. “I am unable to confirm that with any certainty.”

Yashinkov stood up assertively in order to make his point. “It is essential to national security that I maintain good relations with CI5,” he said. 

“I will pass on your concerns to Commander Andropov. Do svidan’ya Comrade.”

“Do’svidan’ya.” Yashinkov resisted the temptation to slam the door behind him as he left the room. Cowley was not going to be happy, but at least they had made contact. 

******** 

Doyle followed Bakunin purposefully down a narrow alleyway several streets behind Lubyanka. Near the end he saw a man waiting carefully in the shadows. Bakunin met him with a hug and introduced him to Doyle. Doyle nodded and tried out the little phrase that Alexei had been trying to teach him all day. “Ochin preeyatna,” he said nervously, ending with a shy smile. The man smiled back and shook his hand warmly, then started to talk to them both in hushed but hurried tones. Obviously Doyle couldn’t understand a word, but he thought it was nice that they included him in the conversation. At length the man shook both their hands once again, and left. 

Doyle turned to Bakunin and shrugged. “And?” he said.

“He confirms your agent is being held in the interrogation centre. He is on the ground floor.”

“Well that’s something I suppose. How do we get in?”

“The ground floor of The Lubyanka has been a prison for many years. There are no ways to escape.” Bakunin looked quite glum. “I am sorry.”

“There’s always a way,” said Doyle smiling reassuringly. “There’s no reason why we can’t try the easy way.” Doyle’s mind was running over the beginnings of a plan. He just needed to talk to Yashinkov, to find out how the man had fared with Andropov. 

Bakunin looked at him in confusion and shrugged. He didn’t know what the British agent had in mind, but he knew he would do what he could to help. This mission had become personal to him as well, having been caught up in Doyle's single-minded determination. The Englishman's partner meant a great deal to him. He was right. There must be a way.

********

Doyle, Yashinkov and Bakunin sat close together around the small table in the smoke filled bar, large vodkas with lager chasers before them. 

“Why don’t we just arrange an exchange, Bodie for the manuscript?” asked Doyle, showing signs of frustration at the length of time everything seemed to be taking. 

“I cannot guarantee that Comrade Bodie will be released, even if we hand over the document.” Yashinkov was annoyed and somewhat embarrassed by the admission. 

Doyle sighed. It was going to have to be the hard way then. “A man with your connections must be able to get me some ID, and uniforms for myself and Alexei?” asked Doyle.

“I have contacts. I will do my best,” said Yashinkov, nodding.

“And how will you get us into the interrogation centre?”

“I will make an appointment with Commander Andropov and tell him I have the manuscript.”

“But if we spring Bodie before they agree to it, you’ll never work for the KGB again.” Doyle looked intently at him, wanting to make sure he knew the risks he would be taking. 

“Then perhaps the time has come to defect.” Yashinkov smiled warmly and picked up his vodka. “Za vas,” he said, knocking the vodka back in one. 

“Za vas,” said Bakunin, following suit.

“Oh bollocks,” said Doyle. “Cheers.”

Five large vodkas later the plan seemed much clearer to all of them. 

********

The next morning the three men sat in the ZiL, across from the main square in front of the Lubyanka. Doyle and Bakunin were smartly dressed in State Security Uniforms. Their dark grey jackets were decorated with two lines of gold buttons down the front, and had light blue flashes on the shoulders. Doyle put on his blue Cap and tried to look at himself in the rear view mirror. Oh Jesus, he thought to himself. Bodie will have a fit when he sees this.

Doyle and Bakunin compared their guns and pooled their ammunition. Doyle ran his hands over the Makarov. The Russian gun was stubbier than his Browning, but nice to handle. He passed it back to Bakunin who finished loading it, keeping the gun down, out of sight from prying eyes. 

Doyle slid his own gun back inside his jacket and wedged it in the interior pocket. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use it, because if it all went wrong and he had to start shooting, then the chances of any of them getting out alive were slim. “Ready?” he asked. 

As one, they got out of the car and walked confidently across the main square, Yashinkov in the middle flanked by Doyle and Bakunin. They entered the building and Doyle had to stifle a gasp as he took in the high ceilings and golden gilt of the beautifully decorated lobby. A staircase swept up on each side and in the middle was a security desk and reception area. Yashinkov approached. 

“Gregor Yashinkov to see Yuri Andropov,” he said, showing his ID pass.

The receptionist looked up at his escort. Following Bukanin’s lead, Doyle showed his ID silently. 

“Please God don’t ask me anything”, he thought. Then, with amazing simplicity, they were through. 

They marched up the staircase to the third floor and Yashinkov led them to the waiting area. Doyle tried to keep his cool as he realised he was standing outside the office of the Head of the KGB. “Oh my God”, he thought. What would Cowley give to be stood in his place? 

Yashinkov gave them a quick glance, and then entered the room while clutching the briefcase in his hand, leaving them on guard outside. 

********

Within only a few minutes Yashinkov was back, the slight shake of his head preventing Doyle from saying anything. They walked back along the corridor. As they got out of earshot Doyle whispered ‘Well?’

Yashinkov looked down at the floor. “It did not work, Tovarich. He has the manuscript, but has not agreed to release Comrade Bodie.”

“Oh yeah?” said Doyle. “Well that means it’s time for plan B. Come on.”

Yashinkov and Bukanin looked at each other and smiled. This man was obviously not going to give up that easily. They followed him down the corridor. 

********

Bodie became aware of voices outside the door. There was absolutely no point in him trying to eavesdrop, he knew virtually no Russian at all. He could tell that the voices were raised in anger, but that was all. 

Then the door was flung open and light flooded in. He covered his eyes with his right arm. Heavy footsteps strode across the floor towards him, and he readied himself for the onslaught. 

He felt a hand on his shoulder and then a soft breath in his ear, as a very familiar English voice whispered, "Liverpool for the cup."

Had he heard right? He lowered his arm slowly, and peered at the face that was looking down at him with concern. 

“Up the Moscow Dynamos,” said Bodie faintly, managing a smile for his partner. 

Between them, Bakunin and Doyle reached down and pulled Bodie up into a standing position. It was a good plan, but unfortunately Bodie wasn’t in any fit state to stand. He immediately collapsed, only to be caught in firm hands and steadied. With Bakunin’s strong arm around his waist and his right arm pulled across Doyle’s shoulders, the three men steadily left the room. 

As they went through the door Bodie recognised Yashinkov, who was shouting at the woman interrogator and waving some important looking papers at her. Yashinkov didn’t even look his way as Doyle and Bakunin half dragged, half carried Bodie down the corridor, as quickly as they could and before anybody could change their mind. 

********

“The diplomatic flight leaves in one hour, Comrades,” said Yashinkov, looking thoughtfully out of the front window of the ZiL.

“We’ll make it,” said Doyle from the back seat where he was assessing Bodie’s injuries. “If I were you I’d be more worried about what your boss is going to say when they realise what we’ve done.”

“I am confident that I will receive the appropriate backing. I will explain that I believed that the return of the manuscript was dependent on Comrade Bodie being released.”

“Nobody’s indispensable,” said Doyle, who couldn’t get rid of the nagging thought that they hadn’t heard the last of this. 

“Slowly Alexei, if you drive too fast you will draw attention.” Yashinkov patted Bakunin’s arm, encouraging him to drive at a slower pace. 

“That’s what I’m always saying to you,” teased Doyle, fussing over Bodie’s broken arm. 

Bodie looked up at him, finally taking in his surroundings. “What the fuck are you wearing Doyle?” he said, reaching up with his good hand to remove Doyle’s cap so he could get a better look. 

“Yeah well, how else was I supposed to break into a heavily guarded KGB prison? Hold on mate, I’ve got to splint this.” He was busily creating a makeshift splint from his belt and a piece of wood from the ammunition packaging. 

Bodie winced with the pain the movement caused him. "I never could resist a man in uniform - 's why I joined the Paras..." he murmured, as unconsciousness claimed him.


	2. Two Touch Sensitive

Set 3 months on from One Touch Sensitive

Things couldn’t have been more different from their last meeting. For one thing it was freezing cold, and each expelled breath showed up as a frosty cloud before them. Bodie clasped his arms cross his chest trying to hold the warmth in, and Doyle shoved his hands deep into his pockets, wishing he had remembered his gloves. The London skyline behind them was crisp and grey, too cold even for snow. The other main difference became instantly apparent, as Yashinkov, Bakunin and Burakov walked towards them and took their places opposite - all three Russian agents had lost their usual casual arrogance, and instead looked worried, very worried indeed. 

Cowley stepped forward, immediately recognising the urgency and importance of the situation. 

“Comrade, what has happened?” he said, reaching forward to shake Yashinkov’s hand and coming straight to the point.

Yashinkov appeared grateful for his direct approach. He sighed. “Ah, Tovarich, I am relieved to see you.”

“Aye?” said Cowley.

“For some time I have been concerned that our involvement in Comrade Bodie’s release would cause a problem for us all,” said Yashinkov. 

“Has there been a development?” asked Cowley. 

“I cannot be sure, Tovarich, but my instructions, they worry me. I am to ask for your help in locating a MiG-25 test pilot who is believed to be hiding here in London. It is feared that he intends to defect.“

“I see.” Cowley looked thoughtful for a moment. “Yes, that is an unusual request. Do you have his name?”

Yashinkov stepped forward with a photograph in his hand, handing it to Cowley. “His name is Victor Zuyev. He came to London on a, er, diplomatic visit and has not been seen for one week.” 

“A diplomatic visit?” said Cowley, taking in the face on the photo, and raising his eyebrows in suspicion. 

Yashinkov simply shrugged and smiled. 

Cowley glanced across to Doyle and handed him the photo, then looked back at Yashinkov. “So, we are to work together again, Comrade?”

“You know London, and have many contacts. I know defectors, and where they might go. It seems right to work together, yes?”

“Aye, perhaps.” Cowley eyed Yashinkov carefully. “But I direct operations, or the answer is no.”

Again, Yashinkov smiled. “I knew this would be your wish, Tovarich.”

“So we are agreed?”

“We are agreed. Alexei has asked to work direct with you once again, his English is the best.” He nodded at Bakunin who moved to stand next to Bodie and Doyle, giving them a small smile. 

“I will be in touch, Comrade,” said Cowley, shaking Yashinkov’s hand once more. “And don’t worry so much, my friend. We have no proof yet that there is anything else behind this.”

“Yes, perhaps you are right. Do’svidan’ya.” Yashinkov didn’t sound at all convinced as he and Burakov turned and walked swiftly back out of the warehouse. 

********

The Capri’s tyres screeched as Bodie drove out of the warehouse car park. 

“Your arm, it is better now, yes?” asked Bakunin from the back seat. 

Bodie put his foot down and looked at Bakunin via the rear view mirror. “Yeah, it took a couple of months but I’m back on active duty now, thanks to you, mate.”

Doyle turned around to look at Bakunin from the passenger seat. “Why is your boss so worried?” he asked.

“We have not been asked to work so directly with CI5 before. Anything out of the ordinary is of concern to him, especially now.”

“And what do you know about Victor Zuyev?”

Bakunin allowed himself a smile. “I do not believe he is here on a diplomatic visit.”

“No, well I think we worked that out for ourselves. So what is he doing here?”

“I understand he was gaining information on radar systems.”

“Under cover?”

“Da.”

“Any idea where?”

Bakunin nodded and pulled a notebook out of his inside pocket. “There is a place called, er, Chelms – ford, da?”

“Chelmsford? Essex?”

“Da. We believe Comrade Zuyev has infiltrated the Marconi headquarters.”

“Okay. Well it’s a start.” Doyle looked across at Bodie. “Chelmsford?” 

Bodie nodded, and immediately spun the car around, heading East. For a second it crossed his mind that it was strange that Doyle appeared to have no problem trusting the Russian agent. But then he supposed that was because they worked so closely together to rescue him from Lubyanka. He tried to dismiss the concern as paranoia, and, sighing, he picked up the car radio to report in. 

********

An hour later, the three agents sat in the Capri as they studied the main gate of the Marconi building.

“Security seems quite solid,” said Bodie, as yet another visitor was checked in by the security guard. “Why don’t you two keep that appointment with the manager that Cowley made for us, while I check out the security arrangements. He might have noticed our man.”

Doyle nodded in agreement. “Okay,” he said, “come on then.”

********

Another frustrating hour later, the three men met back at the Capri. Doyle shrugged his shoulders as he walked towards Bodie. ‘Nothing,” he said. “They looked at us like we were aliens from another planet.”

“Same here,” said Bodie, leaning on the roof of the car. “The security guard checked through all his records for the last week, nothing. What about the plans for this radar thing?”

“What radar thing?” said Doyle. “They denied its existence.”

“Official secret?” wondered Bodie. “We might expect them to be a bit cagey, what with you having a Russian in tow.”

“I thought that, but they’ve had clearance from Cowley, that should be enough.”

“Hmm.” Bodie opened the car door on his side and they all climbed in. 

As Bakunin made himself comfortable in the back seat he chewed his lower lip nervously. “I have more information,” he said, hesitation in his voice.

Bodie and Doyle both turned in their seats to look back at him, enquiring looks on their faces. 

“I am not confident,” said Bakunin, apologetically. 

“Well, tell us anyway,” said Bodie.

“There is a place in London where Zuyev may go, if he wishes to defect.”

Bodie started up the engine, and reversed out of the car park. 

Doyle reached for the car radio.

“4 5 to Alpha One.”

“Alpha One.”

“Marconi was a dead end, we are on our way to...” Doyle looked pointedly at the Russian. 

“Bayswater,” confirmed Bakunin.

“Bayswater,” repeated Doyle into the radio. “We’ll report in when we get there.”

“Right, Alpha One out.”

As Bodie drove on, he gave Doyle a sideways glance. Doyle looked back at him with a half smile on his face, and raised his eyebrows imperceptibly. They were both beginning to feel that something wasn’t quite right. 

********

Bodie parked the Capri in the street on Moscow Road. Light was fading, and after the crisp cold spell of the last few days, it had finally started to snow. After reporting their destination to control, they got out and Doyle stretched as Bakunin pulled himself out of the back seat. He nodded towards the cafe on the corner of Moscow Road and Bark Place. It was a fairly typical greasy spoon, with grubby, red gingham half curtains shielding part of the windows, and a red tiled front step. As Bakunin stepped inside, Bodie pulled Doyle to one side for a second. 

“If this is a dead end too, somebody’s making a monkey out of us,” he said quietly. 

“I know,” said Doyle, nodding his head towards the cafe. “Come on.”

Together they stepped over the threshold. 

As they walked to the counter they were aware of the noise level dropping, as the people on various tables observed their arrival. Doyle made straight for the counter where Bakunin was already being served, and Bodie halted slightly behind them, checking out the other customers. 

Bakunin looked at Doyle, suddenly unsure of what to order. Doyle smiled past him at the teenage girl who was looking up at them with wide eyes. “Three teas, love”, he said. 

“And a bacon sarnie,” said Bodie, giving her a cheeky grin. 

“I see my contact,” said Bakunin, gesturing towards a man seated in the corner. 

“And who is he, exactly?” asked Doyle.

“A man who can make you disappear,” said Bakunin, with that air of mystery that Russian spies seem to do so well. 

“Well I don’t trust your contact,” said Bodie, under his breath. “You two go for a chat, I’ll watch your back, okay, sunshine?” With that he leaned back against the counter and looked pointedly at Doyle. 

Doyle nodded in agreement, then approached the corner table with Bakunin. 

The swarthy man looked up from his tea cup, giving them a look that would strip paint. “You want something?” he muttered. 

Bakunin sat down opposite him, Doyle remained standing at Bakunin’s shoulder. “We need some help with a missing person, a Russian,” said Doyle, keeping his voice low. The man’s eyes narrowed. In one movement he stood up, pushing the small table away from him and almost causing Bakunin to fall off his chair. “Outside,” he said gruffly, and walked towards the back of the cafe. 

Doyle hesitated slightly and glanced back to Bodie, who nodded towards the front door. Doyle and Bakunin followed their contact down a narrow passageway which led to the toilets and then outside to the rear of the cafe where the bins were kept. 

As soon as they stepped outside into the cold night air their world exploded. A hidden assailant appeared apparently from nowhere and punched Bakunin hard in the nose, before he had a chance to block him. A second man launched himself at Doyle punching him hard in the ribs. Doyle reacted quickly and hit him back with some force, only to be overcome as another man joined in. ‘Shit!’ he thought, ‘where are they all coming from?’ He kicked backwards, sending another man crashing back into the wall. He heard running footsteps and knew instinctively it was Bodie, who threw himself into the fray. 

Behind the cafe was a narrow alleyway bordered by a four foot high wall, designed to protect passers by from the open cutting where the underground tube line ran. Bodie grabbed his man and exchanged blows, but pure adrenaline won through and Bodie gained the upper hand. With one massive effort Bodie wrestled with him and pushed him back against the wall. The man grabbed Bodie around the throat and for a second they were both held there, staring each other out. Then Bodie relaxed his grip causing his attacker to fall inwards and in one smooth movement, Bodie threw him over the wall and onto the railway line below. As Bodie looked down at the body on the line, he heard a gunshot ring out and as he quickly turned to look, he was coshed on the back of the head. Bodie slipped to the floor, unconscious. 

********

Bodie woke up slumped in a doorway at the back of the cafe, looking every bit like a down and out who had found his place to sleep for the night. Someone was shaking his shoulder, trying to rouse him. He could see stars, and his head was exploding with the harsh sound of a siren. He forced his eyes to open and tried to focus on the scene in front of him. The narrow side street was blocked by an ambulance and a fire engine, as the emergency services worked together to remove the bits of body from the tube line below them. They were being hampered by the snow, which was now falling heavily, and which had already placed a thick layer of white all around.

“Bodie?” 

He looked up at a concerned face peering down at him. “Murph?”

“You all right, mate? You look terrible.”

“Where’s Doyle?” Bodie started to struggle to his feet, aided by Murphy who pulled him upwards and took his weight while he acclimatised himself.

“Haven’t found him yet. Is he around here?” Murphy looked around the alleyway. 

“Yeah, and Bakunin.” Bodie’s face was grim, determined. “They’ve got to be here somewhere.”

Murphy pushed him towards the ambulance. “I’ll find them, get yourself checked out.”

“No chance,” said Bodie, shrugging himself free of Murphy’s grip. 

Murphy grinned at him. “No,” he said, “I didn’t think so. Come on then. I’ll check the rest of this alleyway, you look the other side of the cutting.” 

They split up and Bodie staggered across the road. He pushed past the fire engine and into the relatively quiet street behind it. He put his hand out to the wall, steadying himself, and looked around him. Maybe he was in the wrong place, Doyle wouldn’t have come this far away from the scene. But then he also didn’t know who had dumped him in that doorway, perhaps the same person had moved Doyle. Then his eyes fell on a small, snow covered heap of something in front of the nearest house. He rushed over, falling to his knees as he started to brush the snow away. 

“For Christ’s sake, Doyle, can you hear me?” He brushed the last of the snow off and tried to assess his partner’s injuries. The snow was stained red, like a gory slush puppie. “Ray?” There was no response, but Bodie was relieved to feel a light pulse. “Murph!” Bodie shouted at the top of his voice. 

Murphy was there in a matter of moments.

“Get the ambulance crew,” ordered Bodie, “I can’t wake him.”

“Right, hold on.”

Bodie slumped on the ground next to Doyle and pulled him half onto his lap, resting his brow on the mop of curls. He was vaguely aware of the muffled sound of running footsteps and voices, and the last thing he remembered was Doyle being pulled away from him by the paramedics, as Bodie passed out and hid the ground with a thud. 

********

“Well that’s just marvellous, one agent with concussion, one with a gunshot wound, one Russian agent missing, one dead body and no witnesses.”

“No, sir, well I got there as fast as I could, as soon as we got the notification of the ‘one under’ at the same spot that Bodie had radioed in from.”

“It’s not good enough, Murphy.”

“No, sir, sorry, sir.”

“How long was it before Doyle was found?”

“About an hour in all.”

“And we have no idea what happened to Bakunin?”

“Er, no, sir.” Murphy sounded brow beaten. 

Bodie decided to keep his eyes shut. It was probably going to be safer in the long run. 

Then he heard a faint voice trying to join in the conversation. “There’s no news on Alexei?” Doyle! Bodie opened his eyes. 

He was lying in a small hospital room with Doyle lying in another bed just across from him. Doyle was propped up on several pillows, his right arm tightly bandaged. Murphy had his arms folded across his chest and was leaning against the wall in the corner, and Cowley was pacing back and forth with an angry expression on his face. 

Bodie moved his head very carefully and looked across at Doyle. “You okay, mate?” he asked, his voice coming out as a croaking whisper. 

Cowley stopped in mid pace and Murphy stood up straight. “Well, it’s about time!” exclaimed Cowley. 

Murphy grinned across at him. “Decided to come back to the land of the living, then?” he said.

“You haven’t answered my question,” said Bodie, faintly, still looking at Doyle. Just then a young, dark haired nurse came bustling into the room, checking Bodie over and settling him back on his pillows. “Mr Cowley, sorry but my patients need their rest now, Doctor’s orders. You can come back to see them later.” And refusing to take no for an answer, she ushered Cowley and Murphy outside. 

As Murphy left he turned back into the room for a second and said ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do”, then he grinned once more as she pushed him in the small of the back and closed the door firmly behind him. 

Bodie sighed and closed his eyes, trying to stop the room from spinning. 

Doyle’s voice came across the room at him. “I’m okay, you can stop worrying.”

Doyle didn’t sound okay, he sounded terrible. “I couldn’t wake you up,” said Bodie, looking at him through half closed eyelids. 

The nurse fussed around Doyle, making him as comfortable as possible. “Mr Doyle has a minor gunshot wound to his arm, you have concussion, you’ll both be fine but you need to rest.”  
She moved back to Bodie and tucked him in. “Get some sleep, Mr Bodie,” she said, then, giving him a smile, she left the room quietly. 

“We need to get out of here and find Alexei,” said Doyle. 

“I’ll be right with you, just as soon as I can stop the bloke inside my head from hammering.” Bodie closed his eyes again. 

“Bodie?”

Bodie opened his eyes and turned to look at him, instantly regretting it and wincing. “What?”

“Thanks for coming back to get me.”

“Oh, that’s okay then.”

“Go to sleep, Bodie.” 

Bodie slept. 

********

“Hallo, Comrade,” said Cowley.

“Hallo, Tovarich,” said Yashinkov.

Both men paused for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. The whole case had fallen apart right in front of their eyes, and both sides had suffered. Murphy now stood behind Cowley, and Burakov stood to the right of Yashinkov. 

Yashinkov broke the ice. “How are your two agents?” he asked, politely.

“Doyle will not be out of hospital for a few days yet, but I expect Bodie to be discharged later this afternoon.”

“That is good news.”

“Aye,” said Cowley. “And Bakunin?”

“I have not heard.”

“I see,” said Cowley.”I am understandably concerned about the quality of the information you provided, Comrade. Every step our men took, turned out to be the wrong one.” 

“I am aware of this. But this information came from above, it seemed.... reliable.”

“I see.” Cowley paused. “Perhaps you were right from the beginning, my friend. Perhaps there is more to this than meets the eye, after all.”

“Comrade Doyle said at the time that we would not get away with such an easy rescue from Lubyanka,” said Yashinkov, thoughtfully. 

“You believe this is retaliation?”

“Or a test of our loyalty, perhaps.” Yashinkov paused slightly, and looked Cowley firmly in the eye.   
“Tovarich, may I ask you, the copy of Comrade Darby’s manuscript you gave us. It was complete, yes?”

Cowley turned away and walked to the window, looking down at the frozen city below them. “Ah, now that’s a good question, Comrade, a very good question indeed.”

********

Later that afternoon, Murphy was under orders to collect Bodie from hospital. He strode back into the hospital room, only to find both beds empty.

He went back outside to the main desk. “Have you moved them, then?” he asked.

The nurse was on the phone but she put her hand over the mouthpiece and said, quite politely under the circumstances, “I beg your pardon?”

“Bodie and Doyle, they’re not in their room.”

“Can I call you back?” She put the phone down. “They were there ten minutes ago,” she said to him. She moved around the desk and started walking briskly to the room, Murphy alongside. “Mr Bodie was about to be discharged but Mr Doyle hasn’t had the all clear yet.”

She pushed the door open, quick to realise that both men had indeed left, and it looked like they had done so in a hurry. 

She looked up at Murphy, worry in her eyes. “Mr Doyle really shouldn’t leave until we’ve had the results of his tests.”

“It’s all right love, I’ll get them back here. They never were any good at doing what they were told.” Murphy gave her a reassuring smile and walked down the corridor, reaching for his R/T as he went. 

********

Bodie never had been a particularly good passenger with anyone but Doyle driving. He took a sharp intake of breath as the taxi driver veered from one lane to another in the heavy London traffic. Trying to distract himself, he took another look across at Doyle.

“Are you sure you’re up to this?” he asked, taking in his grey pallor and occasional coughing.

“If you think I’m going to sit in a hospital bed while you get out there on your own looking for Bakunin.” Doyle looked at him with a flash of anger in his eyes. “Yes, I’m up to it.”

To Bodie’s relief it wasn’t long before the taxi pulled up next to the parked Capri in Moscow Road. They got out and Bodie paid the driver. They wandered across to the cafe, which was closed and desolate. 

Doyle looked at his watch. “3 o’clock,” he said. “Why is it shut?” They walked around the back to investigate the scene of the previous evening’s fight. Bodie went over to the wall, looking down at the railway track below. Doyle’s R/T bleeped. 

“4.5.”

“4.5 this is Alpha. Why aren’t you in hospital?”

“I’m fine, sir.”

“There are still tests they want to do, get yourself back there.”

“There’s no need, sir.”

“That’s an order 4.5! Tell 3.7 that Zuyev has handed himself in to Scotland Yard. We are moving him to CI5 HQ. 3.7 needs to meet me there, now.”

“Understood. 4.5 out.”

Bodie was still looking down at the underground railway as a tube train rumbled through. Doyle walked up behind him. “You okay?” he asked. 

Bodie started slightly. “Yeah, sure.,” he said, looking up with a slight shiver. “Let’s get out of here.”

********

As the two agents walked into Cowley’s office, the controller looked up with an exasperated look on his face.

“I thought I gave you a direct order to get back to hospital, Doyle.”

“I would if I thought there was any need, sir. I’m okay, honest.” Doyle plonked himself down in one of the armchairs. 

“Hmm. Well I haven’t got time to worry about you being pig headed. I’ve been interrogating our MiG pilot.”

“What’s his story, sir?” asked Bodie.

“It appears he surrendered to Scotland Yard because he thought he was going to be assassinated by the KGB. He was sent over here to act as a decoy, to see how Yashinkov and his men would react.”  
Bodie leant on the edge of the desk, his arms folded. “So Yashinkov was right, they are testing his loyalty.”

“Yes, it would appear so.” Cowley was interrupted by Doyle coughing. He looked at him pointedly. 

“Sorry,” said Doyle, trying to stifle another cough. 

“Did he give us anything else?” asked Bodie, trying to divert attention away from Doyle’s coughing fit. 

“He believes Bakunin is being kept at a KGB safe house, a converted mews off Great Portland Street. You two get over there, see what you can find.”Cowley paused, and looked over his glasses at them.   
“If you think you can make it that far, Doyle?”

Doyle stood up. “Yes sir, of course, just a frog in me throat.” 

********

Bodie coasted the Capri to a halt in a side street behind the mews. 

Not for the first time he looked across at Doyle, who was coughing more and more, and looked paler than he had done in hospital. 

“Stop looking at me, Bodie, I’m okay!”

“Right,” said Bodie, sighing slightly, “come on then.”

Together they carefully picked their way around the back of the mews cottage, the early darkness of winter helping their task. Without discussion, they instinctively came to the decision that the front door was not the way to go; security would be too great in a safehouse. Keeping low, they ran silently to the back of the house. Doyle kept below the level of the window sill while Bodie edged sideways to the window in the back door, until he could see a little of the interior. Doyle looked up at him for a signal. Bodie held out his hand to tell him to wait. There was no sign of life inside and the lights were out. Bodie shrugged, and nodded his head to the door. They both drew their guns.  
As quietly as possible, Doyle tried the door, amazed but instantly concerned to find it open. They slipped inside, and pulled the door closed behind them. Together they made their way through the room, alert and guarding every direction. 

“Where is everybody?” whispered Bodie. 

Doyle shrugged his shoulders in response, unsure. Unfortunately he chose that moment to start coughing again. Doyle lifted his arm and put it across his mouth and nose, trying to force himself into silence. Bodie paused and looked quickly at him, equal amounts of annoyance and worry coursing through him. 

“Bloody hell, Doyle, can’t you shut up?” he whispered.

“I’m trying, you moron,” coughed Doyle. 

At that moment the lights went on, and they found themselves the focus of three, very calm looking Russians, all pointing their guns directly at them. 

“You will drop your weapons,” said one of them, with certainty in his voice. 

Bodie and Doyle paused for a second. 

“We have no wish to harm you, but you will drop your weapons,” he said again. 

Doyle threw an apologetic look at Bodie, and threw his gun on the floor. Bodie pursed his lips together tightly, and, left with no choice, he followed suit. At that moment the Russian agents moved swiftly into action, and two more appeared from the other room. The two CI5 men quickly had their hands tied behind their backs, and after their R/Ts were taken, they were bundled from the house and into the back of a waiting car. The whole thing looked far too organised to be impromptu, and started to take on the look of a well thought out plan. 

Bodie was about to berate Doyle for his poor timing, but he looked so washed out and ill that Bodie bit back the words. It was an hour before they reached their destination, by which time Doyle had slipped down in his seat and was leaning heavily against Bodie. His coughing was worse, and breathing appeared to be a struggle. Bodie watched their route carefully; they were heading West of London. Eventually they pulled into a gypsy caravan site near Heathrow airport, a second car following them in. Towards the back of the site was a large metal shipping container, somewhat rusty and old, and ominously Bodie realised that this was their destination. 

The car door was opened and Bodie shifted across the seat, finding it awkward to get out with his hands tied. He stumbled to his feet.

“Get him out,” said the biggest Russian gruffly, gesturing towards Doyle.

“Can’t you see he’s sick?” said Bodie. “He’s got a gunshot wound, probably caused by one of you lot, and he’s got some kind of infection, pneumonia maybe.”

“So, help him.”

“You’re gonna have to untie me.”

The Russian paused, then moved towards Bodie and cut the bonds on his wrists. 

Bodie reached back into the car and carefully pulled Doyle out. Doyle looked up at him in confusion, having trouble standing. The Russian cut the bonds on his wrists too. Bodie pulled Doyle’s arm across his shoulders and slipped an arm around his waist so he could take his weight.

One of the other Russians moved towards the shipping container.

“If you put us in there, it’ll kill him,” said Bodie. 

“We have no wish to harm you,” said the big agent, “but we have our orders.”

Bodie glanced around the gypsy site, and realised they were being observed by a small group of people. They didn’t look like they were going to help out, but at least somebody else knew they were going to be imprisoned in the container. That was something, at least. 

There was movement from inside the container. “What the hell is in there?” thought Bodie. “It’s freezing,” he said out loud, “it’ll finish him off. Leave me, but dump him at the nearest hospital. He’s more trouble than he’s worth.”

The Russian shook his head, “We have our orders.” He moved towards the container and unlocked the padlock, opening the door. Two of the others pushed Bodie slightly and he moved forwards and stepped inside, Doyle in tow. 

He tried once more. “At least leave us some blankets, if he dies your boss will hold you responsible.”  
But the door was slammed shut, leaving them in darkness. 

Bodie was about to sit Doyle down on the floor when there was a noise from the corner of the container. Bodie froze. “Who’s there?” he said.

“Comrade Bodie?” 

“Bakunin?”

He felt a hand on his arm in the darkness. “Da.”

“Blimey mate, you scared the living daylights out of me. What are you doing here?”

“I have been here since yesterday, I think.”

Before they could continue there was a noise outside and the door was pulled open once more. The big Russian was there, along with a young gypsy lad. The Russian handed Bakunin a pile of blankets and a First Aid kit, and the boy put a camping gas light on the floor inside the container, along with a bucket of water. He looked up at Doyle with a flash of sympathy in his eyes, before the Russian pushed him back outside. 

“You are right, we do not wish the CI5 agent to die. We only follow our orders.”

“Right,” said Bodie, “thanks, mate.”

And the door was shut again, this time for good. 

********

“Play that part again,” directed Cowley.

Murphy reached across and pressed ‘rewind’ for a few seconds, then ‘play’. 

“The three agents will be returned unharmed, once the original, complete manuscript is in our hands. Your previous lack of cooperation is unfortunate, you will appreciate that steps must be taken to rectify the situation.”

Cowley took off his glasses and put them on the desk, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He had mixed feelings of annoyance and admiration at the way the Russians had handled this. He was left with no choice. He would have to give up Darby’s manuscript, this time in its complete form. 

“What do you think, sir?” asked Murphy, concern evident on his face. 

“I think it’s Russia 1, England Nil,” said Cowley, a wry smile playing across his lips. 

“But they haven’t told us what to do with the manuscript,” said Murphy.

“So we wait.”

“It’s Doyle I’m worried about, sir.”

“Aye, well if he’d complied with my orders he wouldn’t be in this mess, would he now?”

“No, sir.” Murphy looked down for a moment, the feeling of helplessness difficult to deal with. That nurse had been really worried about Doyle. He just hoped that wherever he was, Bodie was there too. 

********

With the welcome addition of the light, Bodie and Bakunin were able to organise things inside the shipping container. They stacked two pallets on top of each other to make something to sit on, and created a makeshift bed out of some of the blankets. Doyle sat on the pallets, leaning back against the wall while Bodie checked his arm. The flesh wound looked clean and uninfected, and Bodie strapped it back up with a new sterile dressing and bandage from the First Aid kit. He didn’t want to chance washing it with the water from the bucket. 

Doyle’s breathing was getting worse. It was noticeably loud and sounded like there was fluid on his lungs; he was making a horrible sound each time he struggled to breathe in. He hadn’t spoken for a while, the effort apparently too much. His skin was cold and clammy, and he was shivering. Bodie looked him over with a growing sense of worry. 

“Come on then,” he said, helping Doyle to put his shirt and jacket back on, “let’s get you settled.”  
With Bakunin’s help, Bodie got Doyle down onto the metal floor and inside the blankets. “Try and get some sleep, sunshine,” he said, resting his hand on his partner’s forehead for a second or two.   
Bodie sat on the floor next to Doyle, and looked up at Bakunin who was sitting on the pallets. “What the hell is going on, Alexei?” he asked. 

“I also am confused,” said Alexei. “I believe Zuyev was, how do you say, a decoy?” Bodie nodded. 

“Yashinkov was right to worry, this whole thing, it is a test.”

“A test for what?” asked Bodie.

“To prove our loyalty, after going against orders to rescue you from Lubyanka.”

“That can’t be the only reason.”

“No, I have heard them talk about Comrade Darby’s manuscript.”

“Oh no, not that bloody thing again,” Bodie raised his eyes to the sky, exasperated. “They’ve got it now though, haven’t they?”

“It was not complete.”

Bodie pursed his lips in anger. “Cowley.”

“Da. But the time for games is over, I feel.”

“So they’re gonna use us as bait to get the manuscript?”

“Da.”

“Shit, it wouldn’t bother me ordinarily; we could sit here for as long as it took for Cowley to hand the bloody thing over, but...” Bodie looked over at Doyle. “We’ve got to get him out of here, Alexei.”

Alexei looked across at them both. He had grown fond of both his CI5 counterparts, and obeying KGB rules no longer seemed important. 

“Da, comrade. We will find a way,” he said. 

********

The remainder of the night was a restless one. Doyle was caught in the grip of a fever that got gradually worse, and Bodie and Bakunin took turns to sit with him, trying to cool his head using a clean bandage from the First Aid kit, which they had wrung out in water. As the heat emanating from Doyle’s body increased, Bodie gradually removed layers, first his jacket, then his shirt, leaving him in his jeans and t shirt. He knew it was important to get his temperature down, and he had limited methods available to him. 

At first light Bodie realised the old shipping container was even older than it looked. Bits of daylight were creeping through rusty gaps in the metal, especially in the corners. He was trying to work out how he could exploit one particularly large gap, when Bakunin beckoned him over. 

“He is bad,” he said. “Stay with him, I will look for a way out.”

Bodie sat on the floor close to Doyle. He took a clean handkerchief out of his pocket and soaked it in the water, then wrung it out and ran it across Doyle’s forehead and behind his neck. Doyle turned towards him slightly, his eyes flickering half open. 

“Ray? Are you with me?”

Watery eyes looked up at him, looked through him. Dry lips parted, and Bodie cupped his hand in the water bucket and trickled droplets onto Doyle’s lips. 

The voice was so small when it came, it was a wonder Bodie could hear it. “Where?”

“It’s okay, you’re gonna be okay.”

“Hurts, breathing.”

“You’ve had a bad reaction, old son, either to the gunshot wound, or lying in the snow. I’m not sure which. I should never have let you leave that hospital.”

“Was okay.”

“Yeah, you might have been, but you’re not now.”

“Sorry.”

Bodie shook his head. “Don’t be daft. We just need to get you out of here.”

“Comrade,” Bodie looked up to see Bakunin gesturing wildly. “Look.”

Patting Doyle on the shoulder, Bodie got up and went over to the far corner of the container. In the gap in the metal, amazingly, was a little face trying to look in at them. It was the boy who had brought the gas lamp and water. Bodie crouched down until he was nearly level with him.

“All right, mate?” he said, with as friendly a smile on his face as he could manage. 

“You’re English then?” said the lad.

“Yeah, what’s your name?”

“You’re supposed to be Russian.”

“Are we? Well I’m not. I’m Bodie. What’s your name?” Bodie tried again, desperate to keep the contact going.

“Jimmy Smith. After me Dad. Only he’s Big Jim.”

“Does your Dad know we’re in here?”

“Of course, they’re paying him to use the crate.”

“Do you know where the key is, Jimmy?”

“I’m not stupid, you know.”

“Of course not, it’s just, my mate is really ill, I need to get him out of here.”

Jimmy paused for a moment. “I know, I saw him last night. What’s the matter with him? Is it catching?”

Bodie smiled again. “No, I don’t think so, but I’m really worried about him.”

“My Dad’ll skin me alive if I let you out. They might not pay him, and we need the money.”

“This would be your mission, Jimmy, if you let us out, my boss will pay you whatever you lose.”

“What do you mean, mission? Are you spies, like James Bond?”

“Yeah, a bit like James Bond. And even James Bond needs help from time to time.”

Just then a woman’s voice called from across the yard, “Jimmy, get back here now,” and before Bodie could say anything else to prevent it, he disappeared. 

Bodie punched the metal wall in frustration. 

********

Yashinkov sat down in Cowley’s office with some hesitation. “This is a bold step, Tovarich, that I should come here.”

“I think the time has come to be bold, my old friend,” said Cowley, smiling. 

“Perhaps, yes.”

“You have details of where we hand over the manuscript?”

“Da, da, and your man, he is ready?”

“He is.” Cowley paused. “You know, when this is over, your position in the KGB will be untenable.”

“There is no going back now.”

“I have discussed the situation with my Minister, and he is able to organise security and new identities for all three of you.”

Yashinkov nodded his agreement. “It is sad that it has come to that, but yes, it is unavoidable.”  
Cowley poured them both a large scotch, and together they clinked glasses and drank. 

********

Bodie sat leaning against the wall, providing a cushion for Doyle’s head as he rested on his lap. His breathing seemed a little better, Bodie thought. 

“It’s an easy way to die,” mumbled Doyle, quietly.

“Do what?”

“In the snow,” said Doyle, slowly and with some effort, “it’s an easy way to die.”

Doyle was obviously delirious. So much for him seeming a bit better. 

“You’re not going to die, mate, not if I’ve got anything to do with it.” Bodie ran his hand gently through the damp curls. 

“Don’t go in there, Bodie, it’s dangerous.”

“Quiet, stop worrying. Try to get some sleep.”

With strength from somewhere, Doyle suddenly tried to turn on his side, trying to get up.

“Hey, stop, calm down, Ray.” Bodie grabbed his shoulders and tried to hold him down, only succeeding when a coughing fit wracked Doyle’s body once more. Bodie pulled him into a bear hug, trying to force the fever out of his body. 

“Fuck,” said Bodie, the tears in his eyes brought on by more than just tiredness and despair.   
Bakunin looked up as a noise outside attracted his attention. He scrambled to his feet. “The boy?” he asked. 

“Shit, I hope so,” said Bodie, wiping the back of his hand across his eyes, pulling himself together. 

There was a rattle of chain as the padlock was dealt with, then the door opened slowly, and Jimmy’s face peered into the crate. “You’re to come now, me Ma said. Me Dad’s got a job of work on. You’re to come now, while he’s not here.”

They didn’t need telling twice. Bodie lifted Doyle under his arms and Bakunin grabbed his legs, and they carried him to Jimmy’s caravan. His Mother was waiting at the door, an anxious look on her face. 

“Come, put him in here,” she said, directing them to a small bedroom area, separated from the rest of the caravan by a curtain. 

Quickly making sure Doyle was as comfortable as possible, Bodie turned to her. “Do you have a phone, Mrs Smith?”

“No, there’s a box along the lane, at the Railway station. Jimmy can show you.”

“You will have to go,” said Bakunin, “they will not listen to me.”

“No, okay.” Bodie hesitated for a moment, looking at Doyle.

“I will stay with him. Go, quickly.”

Without a backward glance Bodie leapt down the steps to the ground and walked off at a fast pace, Jimmy jogging along beside him. 

********

As soon as Bodie left the caravan, Bakunin started to worry. Doyle had fallen into a sleep that was so deep, Bakunin was pretty sure he was actually unconscious. 

Mrs Smith brought a cup of herbal tea and put it on the side table. “He should drink this,” she said.   
Bakunin tried to wake him, without success. He looked up at her, obviously worried. 

“Comrade Doyle, Ray?” He tried shaking his shoulders, but got no response. “This is not good,” he said. 

In all, it took Bodie 20 minutes to get to the Station, call in the emergency, and get back. As they reached the entrance to the gypsy site, he told Jimmy to wait to guide the ambulance in, while he ran back to the caravan. He leapt up the steps in one stride and went straight into the small bedroom. 

Bakunin looked up at him in desperation. “I fear we are too late, he is not responding.”

Bodie pushed past both of them and sat on the bed. Something rang a bell in Bodie’s mind that it would be easier for him to breathe if he was sat up, so he pulled his partner up towards him into a deliberate and firm hug. 

He rested the curly head onto his shoulder and rubbed Doyle’s back gently. “It’s all right, Ray, I’m here, you’re gonna be all right.” He used all his senses to tune into Doyle’s body rhythm, listening carefully to his laboured breathing, feeling his heart beat. Bodie didn’t let go. At that moment, he needed this just as much as Doyle did. 

Bakunin touched Bodie’s shoulder. “What did Comrade Cowley say?” he asked.

“Cowley?” said Bodie, not looking up, “God knows, I didn’t phone Cowley. I called 999 direct. I don’t think I trust Cowley at the moment.”

Bodie kept holding Doyle upright, as Bakunin reached for a blanket which he placed around Doyle’s shoulders. And then, for the second time in as many days, Doyle was being taken away from him by paramedics. 

********

Murphy was getting used to visiting CI5 patients in hospital. 

“How are the invalids today then?” he asked, as he swept into the room, bright and breezy as usual.  
Bodie stood up, looking a little dark under the eyes but apart from that, back to normal. ‘Yeah, I’m fine mate, thanks, but Doyle’s in a right state. Hardly got a wink of sleep what with him wheezing all night.”

Doyle sat up a bit further in bed, giving Bodie a caustic glance, “Pardon me for breathing.”

Bodie smiled and leaned across to ruffle Doyle’s hair, quite gently. “Keep taking the pills, sunshine.”

“Is Cowley talking to us yet?” asked Doyle.

Murphy perched on the end of his bed. “Well, he wasn’t too pleased to find out that you had escaped half an hour before we handed the manuscript over. One phone call and he could have kept the blooming thing.”

“We had other things on our minds,” said Bodie, “like getting Doyle out alive.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” said Doyle, “blame me.”

“Got something for you,” said Murphy, holding out a postcard which Bodie took. 

Bodie looked at it, a smile creeping across his face. “You’ll like this,” he said to Doyle, passing it on to him. 

On one side the postcard was a picture of a beach in Bermuda. On the back the address had been made out to Ray Doyle at CI5 headquarters, but the rest of the card was blank. 

Doyle smiled. “Alexei?” he asked.

“I reckon so,” said Murphy. “Looks like their new identities came through pretty quick.”

“They’d have to,” said Bodie, “what with half the KGB out looking for them. “

Doyle looked again at the glorious picture on the front of the postcard, with its white sandy beach, lush undergrowth, palm trees, and turquoise ocean. “Do you think we could get new identities?” he asked, an innocent look on his face.


End file.
